


I Got You (under my skin)

by starkind



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), DC Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Emotional Constipation, IronBat - Freeform, M/M, Male Slash, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, One Shot Collection, Post-Movie(s), Pre-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:12:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4376798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being there for one another can come in different facets, or conditions. All that matters is the result.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background info: 
> 
> Bruce Wayne and Tony Stark have been friends, way before the events of Batman Begins and Iron Man.

_Swoosh-swish. Swoosh-swish. Swoosh-swish._

The fast, steady motion of the windshield wiper was audible over the sports car's powerful engine. The entertainment console was turned off, except for the navigation system. A little blue line indicated the route to take; almost two and a half hours to go at current velocity. The rain had intensified right from the start of their journey; the skies dark and heavy with a multitude of clouds.

A downpour in the middle of the night. Deserted streets. Traction control trying to do its best. Despite everything, the speedometer needle stayed at a solid 80 mph. The illuminated dashboard of the Lamborghini cast faint shadows inside the posh cabin. Tony Stark stifled a yawn and turned his head to get a glimpse of his silent driver. Dependable hands on the wheel, a stoic expression, eyes on the road.

Bruce Wayne's sharp, clean-shaven profile did not display any outward disturbance to the less than perfect driving conditions. The Gothamite was still dressed in full, formal attire, but Tony yearned for some relief. Rousing himself further out of a tired daze, his hand went to open the top button of his shirt. After that, he discarded his black tie into the pocket of his black suit jacket and rolled too tight shoulders.

His sudden movements earned him a quick, sideways glance.

“Thought you were asleep.”  
Quiet words over the hum of the V12 engine.  
“Nah. I'd be up for a switch if you're tired.”

Wiping over his face and goatee, Tony sat up a little straighter in the leather seat.  
The corner of Bruce's mouth twisted upwards, barely a smirk.  
“I'm not.”

Nodding along, the co-driver slid back into a comfortable, rather slouched position.  
“Thanks. For coming along, I mean. Usually, I go alone, but this year...”  
Tony's voice trailed off into the night.

_Swoosh-swish. Swoosh-swish. Swoosh-swish._

“Think nothing of it.”  
Bruce's eyes flew into the rearview mirror, and back to the road. Tony scrunched up his face.  
“You've never really gotten to know them. Hard to believe it's been fifteen years now.”

Out of the blue, a warm, calloused hand then found its way on Bruce's thigh.  
“It doesn't get easier with the years, does it?”  
Large, soulful brown eyes sized him up. Eventually, Wayne gave a negating snort.

“No.”  
The hand gave a gentle, comforting squeeze to the muscled leg under thin dress pants.  
“I'm just glad that you came back. Seven years is a pretty long time as well, y'know?”

Bruce pressed his lips together tight.  
“I'm here now.”  
Tony's fingers tightened around his quadriceps.

“But how long are you gonna stay this time, Bruce? Stay in Gotham?”  
This time, the Gothamite allowed his right hand to cover the other man's fingers.  
“I'm not going anywhere. Not anymore.”

“Good.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think Tony does visit his parents' graves regularly, despite all the hardship between him and his father. And who could be a better moral support than the man who knows parental loss better than anyone else?


	2. Fire

He awoke without knowing when or where he had fallen asleep, inside clean sheets and their fresh smell. A presence was close by, closer than he ever let most people. Gentle fingers ran along his scalp, through his hair. The familiar scent of Old Spice and spearmint drifted over to him. He stirred. “Hey sleeping beauty, you awake?” Tony's deep voice was calm and soothing; a trifle relieved even, but only to the trained ear.  
  
“Kind of.”

With regained senses came the realization of pain. Bruce smelled a mixture of sweat and soot oozing from his pores, his body. And he ached all over, without having moved a single muscle yet. He noticed he only wore boxer briefs, and how warm Tony's fingers were on his bare skin. “Since when do you own an entire hotel with such a neat little penthouse suite?”   
  
Bruce stifled a yawn as he kept on taking stock of his injuries during his quick, mental inventory. “Couple of days.” His voice was rough and scratchy from all the smoke he had inhaled, and from using the vocal chords differently for the past few weeks. Tony moved around on the mattress, not lessening his grip on either Bruce's exposed muscular arm atop the blanket or his sweat-matted hair.

“Huh. And you always call _me_ lavish.”  
It was then that Bruce twisted so that he was able to peek at the countenance looming above.  
“I'd be homeless now otherwise.”

His well-disguised devastation brought a flicker of sadness to those big brown eyes.  
“I leave you alone for a coupl'a weeks, and this happens. Alfred told me the papers say...”  
Bruce shook his head and proceeded to slide away from his temporary sanctuary spot.

“It. Was. An. Accident. I'll deal with all of that later.” He moved into a sitting position and leaned back against the headboard. All around him was Gotham City in broad daylight; panorama view at its best. Bruce thought he was going to be sick for a moment. The shorter man next to him then gave a little shrug and swung his legs off the bed to stand up. It left a vacuum Bruce was not prepared for.

“Yeah, well. I for my part gotta head out to Vegas. Tonight.”  
The statement came out of the blue. Bruce had no choice but to go with it.  
“Okay.”  
  
“Not what you think. I'm getting an award. Apogee or whatsitsname, I dunno. Pepper knows.”  
“Mhm.”  
“I actually wanted to take you along, but I, uh, realize this is not a good time for Vegas, hm?”  
  
“No, it's not.”  
“D'you want me to...”  
“I'm fine. Go get your award. I'll see you when you're back.”  
  
“Sure, yeah. And then we'll take care of... all of this. Okay? Together. Don't worry, Bruce, kay?”  
A quick brush of knuckles to his stubbled cheek. A gentle squeeze to a bruised shoulder.   
“Right.”  
  
What followed were three months, two weeks, and countless hours of uncertainty and darkness. Bruce Wayne spent them the best way he could; chasing after criminals in Gotham, engulfed within his new-found alter ego. He knew the moment he stopped moving would be the moment he started thinking. Running on empty had never seemed more appropriate.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... because the events of Batman Begins took place before Iron Man. Maybe not with its actual 3-year time span in between the two movies, but still.


	3. Earth

Once the large air freighter touched down and opened its hatch, Tony saw and felt what freedom was all about. He never realized how much he had missed being back on familiar, solid grounds after being trapped for what felt like an eternity. The sun-lit airfield caused him to squint along without sunglasses. A light breeze whipped through his hair; hair which had gotten too long by now.  
  
There was a familiar dark limousine waiting for him on the tarmac, with two people in front.

A flash of red. A flash of bulk.  
Pepper.  
Happy.

Tony refused Rhodey's assistance and went to take his teary-eyed assistant into a tight embrace. The halfhearted quip they shared about job hunting and vacation time being over was only mandatory. Happy refused a hug and went to open the door for his sorely missed boss instead. Before Tony could start to wonder why Pepper did not slide into the back after him, he all but bumped into someone occupying the seat.  
  
And had to catch his breath.

Bruce looked the same as always, maybe a trifle more haggard than before, but he was there.

Pepper Potts, who had discreetly taken the passenger's seat in front, cleared her throat. “I figured this would be amongst the list of things you'd request upon being picked up.” Tony inhaled sharply. All he could focus on was Bruce. _Bruce Bruce Bruce._ The way he looked at him; cold eyes softening after the first couple of blinks. The way his whole body seemed to go from coiled tension to subtle alleviation.  
  
The way his cool fingers felt when Tony reached out to grasp them like a lifeline.  
  
"The most important thing indeed, Potts. The other ones should be a piece of cake for you." He reinforced his grip on Bruce's hand. Pepper cocked her head. "Which would be?" Tony's eyes became hard of a sudden. Wayne's appearance never wavered. "A press conference. Right now, at SI. Call Obie, have him down there as well." Pepper gave a firm, professional nod and proceeded to turn back around.

Right after she asked Happy to raise the partition which separated front and back, Tony pressed a switch and haltered its motion. His assistant looked back at him in surprise and expectation. "And a cheeseburger." Three pairs of eyes locked onto him, amused and bemused in equal shares. "A... cheeseburger." Tony nodded, determined. "Make that two, make it drive-thru, but make it. Hogan, drive."

Pepper's peculiar tug around the mouth went past Tony unnoticed. Once they were alone in the back, his body gravitated towards Bruce's almost automatically, despite the hindrance that was his arm in its sling. He buried his head in the crook of Wayne's neck and heaved a shudder. The lingering scent of sandalwood with its spicy, wooden base note grounded him; it smelled like home and safety.

“Next time you ask me to come with you to Vegas, I probably will, just to make sure.”  
The Gothamite's words were airy, but the way his hands clawed around Tony's frame was not.  
“Fuck Vegas, I just wanna go home. Stay home. With you.”

A kiss to the crown of his head.  
“Welcome back.”

* * *

Once the limousine had stopped, the partition lowered halfway and in slow motion. Pepper peeked into the secluded backseat, almost apologetic. Tony was nestled comfortably against the broad chest of Wayne and gave her a smile. An empty, crumpled brown paper bag lay next to him on the leather seat. She could see he was tired, but a lot calmer than before. "Ready when you are, boss."

Outside, a multitude of reporters had already gathered in front of Stark Industries' main entrance, trying unsuccessfully to get a glimpse through the dark, tinted windows of the Rolls Royce. Undeterred, Tony glanced at his companion. Bruce's eyes were calm and unreadable. "You want to come along?" Wayne shook his head. "I'll wait." Stark nodded without protest and looked at his trusted employees on the front seats.  
  
"Happy, take Bruce home and come back to pick Pepper and me up. This shouldn't take long." He slid out of the Gothamite's close proximity and over to the door behind his driver. "I'll see you at home." The second Tony stepped out of the limousine and slammed the door shut behind him, flashlights lit up the air like a thunderstorm, and people started yelling.

The bulky chauffeur twisted in his seat and looked at the quiet, young billionaire with the serious face. "To the mansion then, Mister Wayne." It sounded like a mixture of a statement and a question, so Bruce gave a curt nod. His eyes flew out to where Tony was just getting into an awkward hug with Obadiah Stane.

"Yes, thank you."

When Tony returned home, he found his guest upstairs and asleep in his bed; clothes draped meticulously over a chair. Jarvis had tinted the windows to keep the late afternoon sun out, so Tony was quick to undress as quiet as he could and spooned behind the solid body. Before he fell asleep, a part of him wondered why it was that Bruce sported so many scars these days.

 


	4. Air

“Breathe, just breathe, dammit!”  
  
The voices around him sounded like they were wrapped in cotton wool; angry and panicked. He tried to claw his way back to consciousness, only to listen to the far away beeping of some machines. “NO! Don't use that, he's got...” A female voice he soon was able to identify as Pepper's. “... do _not_ come near his chest!” Part of him remembered the reactor blast that had ended Stane's life and spared his own.

Why was it then that Tony felt as if a deadweight was sitting on his lungs?

He struggled some more, heard some more voices he did not know and got sucked back into an abyss of darkness.

* * *

 

“How is he?”  
“Stable they said. Thank you for coming on such short notice. I... didn't mean to cause panic.”  
“It's fine, you did the right thing.”

He interrupted the hushed conversation on the sideline by trying to suck in a huge breath. It caused the heart monitor to give a few accelerated beeps, and his visitors to call out his name. With effort, Tony pried his eyes open. Underneath the pale, neon light, the faces of Pepper Potts and Bruce Wayne loomed above, concerned but also relieved at seeing him responsive.

“Sss'op talkin'bout me as if 'm not there.”

His assistant went to get him a glass of water. Bruce frowned and took a nearby chair. “You look like you shouldn't be there.” Tony was too tired to attempt to roll his eyes. He gave a weak wiggle of his left hand, to which the Gothamite promptly responded by taking it in his. He watched Pepper holding a straw to Tony's lips until the latter had slurped a couple of sips and leaned back in the pillows.

“I'll go and see if I can find Agent Coulson. Don't go anywhere.”

Pepper's try for humor got rewarded with a tired smirk from her boss. The door clicked shut moments later. Tony licked his lips and eyed the gloomy man aside. “Meant to tell you earlier: I can fly. Inside a suit of armor, powered by my RT. Well, there's probably not much left of the suit now, but, yeah - I was going to tell you. Show you. Bruce?” Tony squeezed his fingers, trying to get a reaction.

Wayne kept staring at their entwined fingers and kept the frown in between his brows.  
“You could have been killed tonight.”  
Tony made use of his free hand to reach up and tap at the blueish circle in his chest.

“Three months ago, if it wasn't for this thing here. But I'm still alive and kicking. Fighting.”  
While Bruce knew the ARC by now, its new meaning took him by surprise.  
“You're going to keep on doing that? Fighting inside that.. flying armor of yours?”

His tone, while not fully condescending, held a tinge of taunt. Tony gritted his teeth. “Why, because you think I'm not capable? I'm just a spoiled, rich brat making money off of getting people killed by weapons I built? Fuck, Bruce, newsflash for you – people can change!” Tony's chest heaved harder than mere moments ago. Anger made him draw his hand back and caused Bruce to tighten his jaw.

“You know I was in favor of you closing down your weapons manufacturing division. But if you're about to have your head in the clouds from now on, instead of taking care of your company's new direction, you'd better hire a new CEO.” The man on the bed remained silent for a few heartbeats before he gave a disdained snort.

“God, listen to you. Never knew you'd be so narrow-minded. Fine, then, go, get back to your leisure desk job and the occasional heliskiing and spelunking events. Different strokes for different folks, right?”

“Tony, that's not what...”  
“I said it's _fine_. Could you go see if you can find Pepper? I need to speak to her. And I'm tired.”  
“... there is a lot which you don't know about, at this point.”

Dark brown eyes mustered Wayne from top to bottom before they looked past him.   
“Same here, pal.”   
Bruce's eyes narrowed to slits.

“That's really how you want to play it?” Stark worked his jaw. Hurt welled up behind his peeved facade. “If that's what I get in return – guess so, yeah.” With a scraping sound, Bruce pushed the chair back, stood up and turned around. “So be it. Call me again when you're done having pipe dreams. I'll go get Pepper.”  
Tony all but snarled at his back.

“Yeah, great! And don't'cha come back here, ya hear? Goddamn airhead!”

And Bruce did not. After finding the red-haired assistant, he left the secured hospital wing as unobtrusive as he had entered it. High up in the sky, in one of the plush leather seats aboard his Gulfstream jet, Bruce stared out of the window into the yet-to-be sunset of a new day.

 


	5. Silence

They did not speak to each other for the next two and a half months. No phone calls, no emails, no text messages, nothing. The silence became deafening, the longer it went on. At some point, Pepper uttered the question whether or not to organize her boss' appearance at the long-since planned Wayne Enterprises' fundraiser event, held in Gotham City.

A shrug of shoulders from underneath the disembodied Iron Man armor Tony was working on. “Don’t think he’ll care if I come or not. Whatever.” Pepper Potts figured a flat refusal sounded different. She pocketed her phone and looked up. “Your jet leaves at 5. I put out the Valentino tux, you choose between the two bow ties on the bed. Shoes, cufflinks, and accessories are in the dressing room. Shower, shave, and go.”

Much later that night, from his spot at the far end of the large penthouse suite, Tony Stark loitered around a group of nondescript people. An internal debate had him contemplating whether or not to make use of the opportunity to get plastered after many months of sobriety. Bruce Wayne was nowhere in sight, and Tony regretted having given in to Pepper's prodding.

He had just formulated a nasty text to send to his assistant when a chopper landed on the helipad. Tony put his StarkPhone on silent and slipped it back into the pocket of his jacket. Wayne was framed by two female models, acting out his best, suave playboy image. He gave a blasé speech about the how and why he felt called upon to host a fundraiser for the city's new district attorney, and Tony had to refrain from groaning out loud.

The person in front was not the Bruce he knew.  
Used to know.  
Had maybe never really known at all?

Right in the middle of his impromptu speech, Wayne then spotted him, even way back in the farthest corner of the penthouse. To the untrained eye, his nonchalance did not fail or betray him, but Tony very well saw the faint flicker of confusion creep over Bruce's countenance. The fact that he was able to rattle him even without a single word caused Tony an utmost, inner satisfaction.

Spurred by the slight advantage, he sauntered outside onto the vast, dark rooftop terrace. As expected, it did not take long for him to get company. Stealthy moving, silent company. “Hadn't planned on that, I admit.” Tony stayed glued to the spot, arms crossed upon the balustrade and smirked into the dark. “Contrary to popular belief, I still own regular suits these days, FYI.”

Several inches separated their arms from touching. Bruce shoved his palms into the pockets of his pants, leaned back against the railing and crossed his ankles. “It's good to see you.” The quiet admission took all the wind out of Tony's sails; sails which had been preset on snark. “Same. Though you look a little tired, B. Too much hard work?” No answer.

Tony glanced up at him and saw how all casualness vanished from Bruce's stance. The Gothamite stared back into the penthouse, jaw set tight. When Tony followed his line of view, all he saw was clowns. Clowns with semi-automatics. Then there was a firm hand on his sleeve. Before he knew what was going on, Tony found himself dragged along the huge patio which encircled the whole penthouse.

“What the fuck is going on?”  
  
Bruce's stride and hold on him never lessened as he pushed his friend around the corner; into what looked like a bedroom. Gunshots from far away rang out. Tony managed to break free from Bruce's vise-like grip. “What the hell are you doing?” Lightning fast, Wayne gripped his upper arm anew, so hard that Tony almost winced from pressure. Bruce's free thumb moved over a spot on a wall panel.  
  
“Keeping you safe.”  
A hidden room gaped at them. Bruce pushed Tony inside and closed the hatch behind them.  
“There's an armed assault going on, and we're hiding away like cowards in your panic room?”  
  
In the diffuse light of the small tunnel, they soon reached a spare chamber, high enough to stand upright.  
Bruce shrugged out of his jacket, to which Tony stared at him, incredulous.  
“Did you bring your metal suit along?”

“What? No, course not! This was supposed to be a fundraiser, not a shootout, for fuck's sake!”  
A pair of expensive black designer shoes got chucked aside into his direction.  
Bruce then reached out for a large black box hanging on the wall and opened it with a swift motion.  
  
“It's a good thing I brought mine then.”

 


	6. Noise

Outside, the world seemed to end. More gunfire, female screams, people shouting for help. Tony tugged and tore at the door Bruce had secured after he himself had left, but to no avail. Thoughts kept on spinning in his head. Bruce was Batman. Bruce Wayne was the Dark Knight. The masked vigilante of Gotham City.

Too shocked to do anything else than gape at his friend's transformation right in front of his eyes, Tony noticed Bruce had locked him in only after he was gone. A part of him felt an irrational fear rise in the back of his head, as his mind briefly took him back to the cave in Afghanistan. He fumbled for his mobile, only to curse out at the 'no signal' icon on his display. Tony Stark was confused, irritated, and a tad bit worried.

Confused as to when Wayne apparently became the self-proclaimed hero of his city.  
Irritated why the Gothamite had never felt compelled to let him in on his big secret.  
Worried for Bruce, running up against armed thugs with guns while only wearing a rubber suit.

After what seemed like an eternity, scraping sounds from outside caused Tony's head to shoot up. He had gotten into a halfway comfortable sitting position on the floor, propped up against the wall, while he twisted the useless mobile phone around. Realizing he had nothing to defend himself with, Tony scrambled to his feet, pocketed the phone and got ready to use the element of surprise on his potential attacker.

It turned out to be Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce's trusted butler of many decades. Tony gave up his Wing-Chun stance. “This evening convinced me to _never, ever_ come to _any_ of Bruce's shindigs again. Holy shitfuck!” With a rather composed attitude, the elder man overlooked Tony's crude language and beckoned for him to exit his unwilling solitary spot. “Point taken, Master Anthony. I reckon you want to go and tell Master Wayne so yourself?”

With a brush to his sleeves and the front of his dress pants, Tony looked around the now empty penthouse, its destroyed appearance, and gave a grim nod. “Oh, you can bet your sweet behind on that one, Al. At least the police should be too busy by now chasing after clowns, so they won't mind me getting a bit louder while I get a couple of my points... across.”

The butler chose to remain silent and pointed upwards to a large staircase instead. Tony Stark took it two steps at once; his jaw set tight, and a fiery ball of accusations, reproaches, and insults churning inside his stomach. Once he had reached the private quarters, yanked the door open and was about to vent his frustrations, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Bruce stood with his back towards him, leaning against the window. The mask with its pointy ears dangled in one of his hands, and he had shed his gauntlets and his heavy boots. Tony stared at the vulnerable image of Bruce's fair-skinned feet on the plush carpet; a sharp contrast to the menacing, black armor he still wore. All of Tony's previous anger evaporated at once as he approached the man who had his head hung low.

His hand brushed against cold material upon Bruce's shoulder blades; some kind of reinforced plating, and much harder than Tony had anticipated. Bruce Wayne did not move or turn around, and there was only one question on Tony Stark's mind.

“Are you okay?”

 


	7. Dawn

Once the leather, the carbon plates, and the Kevlar was off, Bruce seemed to come out of his daze. Wordless and determined, Tony pushed the taller, scarred body into the adjacent bathroom and into the large shower cabin. He was quick to rid himself of his clothes and slipped in behind, taking matters into his hands.

At first, it was all gentle, innocent touches; hands running along soaped skin or through shampooed hair. Those touches turned to frantic grasps and fingers pressing into soft flesh soon after. Huddled under the warm torrent of water, Tony's wet lips rested against the hollow of Bruce's collarbone. “You never told me.” The Gothamite gave a quiet growl. His thumbs traced circles around the other man's hipbones. “You never asked.”  
  
“How long has this been going on?”  
“Sometime after I got back. Before the Manor got destroyed. Before you got...”  
Bruce's low voice hitched. Tony ran a palm over a crescent-shaped scar on his upper arm.  
  
“And still you berated me for it. For becoming something more than just a rich, mindless brat.”

“Because I didn't want to see you hurt. Iron Man is a public target now.”  
“So is the Batman.”  
“Except nobody knows who Batman is.”

“Doesn't make him invincible. And besides...”  
Stark began to kiss his way down; all over wet, exposed skin on chest, stomach, and hips.  
“... I know who he is.”

Tony's mouth then zeroed in on its destination.  
“He's all mine.”  
The noise Bruce Wayne unleashed in the back of his throat was an unabashed one.

They spent the rest of the night close to each other, exploring old territory and staking out new horizons until the dawn of a new day bathed their bodies in red, golden hues of a rare sunrise. As he left Gotham after breakfast, it dawned on Tony Stark how much easier, and at the same time much more complicated, his life had just become.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This used to have another chapter - or at least the faint idea of one. Alas, the muse wasn't willing, so I'll just leave this be for the moment. Thank you to all of you commenters, kudo-givers, and readers - for keeping up with me and my obsession for these two :)


	8. Dusk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! The muse has returned - Eureka! Though it's not as I originally planned, here's another little snippet.  
> Many thanks to Batsocks, for taking the time to give this a final approval (I know I'm a pain, even on vacay :-D)

Everything looked different in the dark. Tony had never imagined being able to be surrounded by so much dark, high up there, in space. He also never imagined carrying a nuke on his back against a weird alien invasion either.

 _“Sir, shall I try Ms. Potts?“_  
_“Might as well.“_

_“... Call failed.”_

Dark times indeed. And when Tony, after defeating the alien mothership, being rescued by the Hulk, and with his stomach churning from too much Shawarma, was back at his destroyed tower, he found himself subjected to the darkest of glares he thought he had ever seen.

“You called Pepper instead of me?”

Bruce Wayne, physically out of his Batsuit, but vocally in full-blown Dark Knight mode, glowered at him from across the living room area of his penthouse. The damage done to the building had spared most of Tony's private quarters, even though the party deck was a mess. “Sugarbottoms. A very good evening to you, too. How was your day? Better'n mine, I'm sure.”

Stark went to snap his fingers, to which some downlights in the corner came to life. Outside, dusk fell and drenched the destroyed city into even shades of black and gray. He palmed his neck as Wayne rose from the couch, arms akimbo. “You fly an atomic bomb into space, and I get to hear it on the news?” The Gothamite's deep voice rose until it almost cracked. Tony braced himself against a sideboard.

“I prolly should go'n get SI to work on interstellar phone connectivity because that one sucks big time indeed. But can we discuss this later, after I got cleaned up? I really need a shower.” He rubbed the basal joint of his thumb over the abrasion on the left side of his face and winced. Bruce's lips disappeared in an almost invisible line. “You goddamn, egoistic bastard.”   
  
From where he had already trudged over to the bathroom, Tony stopped at the hissed words. “Egoistic? _Egoistic??_ I fucking saved this city, if not the whole damn planet and everything on it today, so don't you go and call me egoistic there, Rodent Guy, for fuck's sake!” Without bothering for a reply, Tony slammed the door shut behind him and yanked off his stained clothes.

Part of him expected Bruce to join him as he stood under the warm torrent of water and soaped himself clean with utmost effort. Part of him expected Wayne to be waiting in his bed, once he re-emerged with damp hair and a towel wrapped around his waist twenty minutes later. The penthouse lay dark, except for the faint illumination from the background lighting.  
  
“Jarvis? Where's Bruce?”  
Tony went to peek around the corner of the bedroom.  
“Mister Wayne has left the premises twelve minutes ago, Sir.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, these two! Always acting like the biggest asshats on the planet when I attempt to write them some mushy-gushy h/c. Tsk.


	9. Hell

For the upcoming weeks, Bruce gave him hell. By leaving all calls and texts unanswered; his visits at the Manor or at Wayne Tower unattended. Persistence may have been one of Tony Stark's better character traits – with Bruce Wayne, it fell on deaf ears. Male pride and stubbornness eventually were the final straws that caused the latest rift between them to widen.

While New York recovered from its Chitauri trauma and began to rebuild streets, buildings, and people's faith in local safety, Gotham City succumbed to an inferno of unforeseen, worrying levels. Its silent, off-radar transition was too fast for the rest of the world to notice before it eventually was too late. Cut off from the rest of the world, it suffered from a devil hell-bent to leave the prince of Gotham destitute and broken.

When sources informed him about Wayne Enterprises teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, Bruce Wayne's impending impoverishment, and his out-of-the-blue resign from CEO, Tony Stark had enough. One of them had to be the sensible one; and if fate was just as twisted as their relationship, it was going to be him. High up in his refurbished Tower, he got in touch with his leading business lady.

“Pep, get me the fucker on the phone. He'll speak to you, I'm sure. Tell him I'm coming to Gotham today, and if he's still suffering from can't-be-arsed-syndrome, I'm gonna wreak havoc on that effing cave of his!”

His former assistant went to try each and every connection available. When she returned to where Tony readied Mark VII, Pepper Potts was pale around her freckled nose. “Alfred hasn't seen or spoken to him in days. He and Bruce-- they had a big falling-out." Stark blinked once, then twice, furrowed his brows and stopped working. "Thought hell would freeze over before that happens. Al's got the patience of a saint."

From the way the redhead did not respond to his quip, Tony stopped smirking. "What?" Potts tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "So you, too, didn't know Gotham is besieged by a terrorist and his army." The look of disbelief on his face spoke volumes. Pepper inhaled sharply. "Tony..." Her blue eyes darted all over his shocked expression. “... it might be possible Bruce has...”

“... gone into hiding. That's what you were about to say, Pep, right?!”

He swung around and gripped the edge of his workbench hard. For a few heartbeats, Pepper just stood, listened to his heavy breathing, and watched the muscles in his back work as Tony thumped a fist against the solid steel. She cleared her throat and moved to close the distance. “I'll try to stay in touch with Alfred, in case he hears something. Please, don't do-- anything reckless.”  
  
She put a palm on his taut shoulder, gave a gentle squeeze and waited. Waited until he nodded, curt and stubborn, but refused to meet her gaze. Once Pepper Potts was out of sight and hearing range, Tony Stark slipped on a pair of gauntlets and began to pummel an innocent concrete pillar in the corner of his lab until rubble lay at his feet, the red-golden metal was marred, and he was panting like a madman.

As he sunk down on his knees, sweat and tears dripped down his face to darken the debris all around. From that moment on, Tony ceased to focus on anything else apart from trying to find Bruce amidst the chaos and the pain his departure had caused.

Almost 90 days into the siege, without any sign of life from Wayne, Pepper voiced her concerns at Tony's hollowed out appearance. “I can't stop searching, Pep, the moment I stop searching is the moment I've given up.” And so she kept her concerns to herself, all matters as far away from him as possible, and gave him space. Perseverance gave Tony focus, despite working himself into the ground.

By then, the reminders of his very own, personal hell called Afghanistan would come to haunt him in form of the most vicious and grueling nightmares each and every night. Yet he kept on pushing forward. Because one thing was certain: If he could not influence the gods, then Tony Stark at least would make sure to move all hell.

 


	10. H(e)aven

7,533 miles.  
Give or take.  
From Jodhpur to New York.

Hardly possible to calculate.  
Almost impossible to imagine.  
Even more infeasible to conquer on foot.

Yet he dared.  
Because he had to.  
Because there was no other option.

Bane had not succeeded in killing him.  
The pit had not managed to keep him confined.  
All he had to do was to set one foot in front of the other.

Bruce Wayne marched through arid regions, burning his bare feet and his pale complexion to painful degrees. Waded through tropical evergreen forests until there were leeches all over his arms and neck. Braved monsoon season and clung to mangrove trees to avoid drowning in angry torrents. Crawled on his hands and knees when the pain from his still weakened back forbid him to conquer rugged hillsides.

He hiked his way through rural scenery of ever-changing landscapes, regions, countries. Any means of transportation were acceptable, just as long as he kept on moving. He moved like a machine; each step was going to get him closer to his goal, no detours, no delays. Sleeping minimum hours underneath the stars, eating what little vegetation was edible, drinking from less than sanitary water holes.

Once he had hitched a ride across the ocean on a cargo freighter from Casablanca, life on the 32,000-tonne container ship became heaven, compared to his previous journey. The 600-feet-long Chinese-built vessel had him sleeping in cramped confines, the hum of its thunderous engine loud in his ears, and the smell of carbide and motor oil in his nostrils.

The 23 international crew members did not speak English for the most part. He still managed to understand what was being shipped in the over 1.000 metal containers, which was mostly dried up fruit and some fabric. At the irony of some dubious cargo consisting of 'low-specific' radioactive material going to Canada, he all but snorted out loud.

With about 12 days and 3,000 miles to go, cut off from any distractions of the modern world, Bruce's allowed his mind to wander and his weary body to rest. To replenish the nutrition he had deprived his body of, he got into a habit of joining the crew for dinner. At some point, they held a medieval gathering and barbecued a whole suckling pig on the aft-deck. Bruce Wayne had never tasted anything more delicious.

When he stood at the harbor of New York and New Jersey, he was dressed in rags, hidden under a mop of shaggy hair and scraggly beard, and about 20 lbs. lighter than usual. Bruce's feet led him towards the huge building with its big blue, glowing A emblazoned high above. Down below, in a phone booth smelling of urine and weed, he made use of the coins he had scrounged from a crew member and dialed.

After the first ring, the line got picked up. Bruce swallowed against a parched throat and ran his tongue over coated teeth.

“It's me.”

He did not remember how or when he got escorted up into Stark Tower. Maybe it took five minutes, maybe fifty. Maybe Tony picked him up in a suit made of iron, maybe he sent his bodyguard. All that mattered was that he had made it. From hell back to heaven - however temporary a stopover his current haven would be. 

Tony Stark might have wept soundlessly into the crook of his long-lost friend's grimy neck.  
Bruce Wayne might have trembled from raw emotions as he put his arms around his devastated lover.  
They let the moment wash over them in mutual silence, filled with unspoken prayers and declarations of love.

 


	11. Black

No, Bruce did not want to give up the cowl.  
He would not rest until Bane would be defeated by no one but himself, once and for all.  
No cursing, bribing or sweet-talking from a certain, far more exuberant superhero was going to change his mind.  
  
Seeing him back in the carbon Batsuit, the backup one which had sat secured in Tony's high tech lab, after all that time brought back memories Tony was not sure he was ready for. After nursing Wayne back to health with the best modern-day osteopathy and chiropractors the western hemisphere had to offer, Stark had to accept the dark knight's wish of seeking justice _-not revenge-_ for his city.

“I know you're capable of doing this all gung-ho and lonesome-hero style, but do me a favor. No, two actually.”  
  
They were standing on the windy rooftop of Stark Tower one night, and Tony's unbuttoned jacket was flapping around his body. Bruce glimpsed from the waiting helicopter behind back to the shorter man in front. “I'm _not_ going to use those pulse laser gloves.“ Tony shook his head with a snort and brushed some wayward curls out of his eyes. “Killjoy. But that's not what I meant. I need you to promise me to come back. Here. To me.”

The sound of the rotor blades almost drowned out his words, but Bruce understood. He nodded once, serious, and tilted his head. “What's the other one?” Stark threw his chopper pilot a sign for two more minutes and focused back on Wayne. “Stay. Once and for all.” Dark brown eyes narrowed as Bruce remained stoic, his face unreadable. “I can't promise you that.”

Tony's expression morphed into fake cheerfulness as he chuckled with another shake of the head. “Figured. A guy can try, though.” He stepped back to stuff his fists into the pockets of his jacket. “Godspeed then, Bruce, and stay safe.” He was about to turn around so that Wayne would not get to witness the hurt in his eyes. The Gothamite reached out and stopped his leaving form with a firm hand on his arm.

“It doesn't mean I won't do my damnedest.”  
And then Bruce kissed him goodbye, lips warm and soft and promising, underneath the dark skies of New York.  
In the doorway of the penthouse patio door, Tony followed the chopper with his eyes until it disappeared on the horizon.

Little did Bruce Wayne know then that his victorious fight would prevent him from being around when Tony Stark's life fell apart, only mere weeks later. Even if Gotham City was brought back to justice by the Batman, injustice took away most of Iron Man's lifetime achievements through sheer brutality and plotted mayhem.

* * *

_'Mandarin Attack: Stark Presumed Dead'_

Tragedy and disaster forge strong bonds between human beings. From where Bruce Wayne, also presumed dead by the public and having fled to Italy after saving his city, sat and held the latest issue of the Daily Times in his hands, Alfred Pennyworth looked down at his stone-faced protege and read along. “Master Anthony has a penchant for resilience - just like you do, Sir.”

It was less than a week before Christmas, and it felt like the blackest day to Bruce. He slipped the newspaper upon the table in front and stared at the inky picture of his missing friend. "I need to be there for when he gets back." His butler made a discreet grasp for the empty espresso cup next to Bruce's wrist. “Of course, Master Wayne.”

The fact that Potts responded to Pennyworth via email no 48 hours later gave Bruce hope and clarity. He could deal with a missing Tony Stark, as opposed to a dead Tony Stark. It should become a week full of touch and go, with a nation endangered at its most vulnerable spot, and a genius inventor being somewhere on his own, left to his own devices.

The end of the Mandarin and Aldrich Killian's dubious plans a week later was a crescendo of Iron Man armory deluxe, a completely destroyed Stark Mansion, and its owner going undercover to escape the prying eyes of the public. Even if Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, had enough PR experts on her team, she took it upon herself to send a clear message out to the world.

Yes, Tony Stark was back; alive and kicking.  
He would just need some more time to reassess his life and his future.  
Yes, Iron Man still was the most badass superhero ever, no doubt about it.

(Pepper would have worded it a little different, but it was Tony's explicit wish)

 


	12. White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to Batsocks for giving me a push in the right direction (not knowing what I'm up to ;)) Sorry it ended up being so short.

Tony lost count on how often he woke up to white ceilings and sterile, hospital smells these days. That time, however, he knew the reason he was waking up and his chest hurt. Ghost pain. From where the reactor used to sit, embedded in his rib cage, powering his heart. Those times lay behind him. Now there was another reason his heart wanted to continue to beat on its own accord – free, unpolluted, and light.

The reason sat next to his bed, hidden behind a thick ginger beard and shoulder-length hair. Tony gave a dazed smile and was rewarded with a kiss on his forehead.

“It's over.”  
His voice sounded scratchy until he was given water to sip from.  
“Yes.”

“But we ain't over, B... abe.”  
Despite his sluggishness, Tony remembered. A verbal ghost pain he would have to get used to.  
Long elegant fingers brushed against his.  
  
“No.”  
Stark swallowed and blinked up into soft, hazel eyes.  
“We're just getting started.”

* * *

Weeks later, Tony Stark stood facing his longtime companion and repeated the final two words.  
“I do.”  
His eyes sparkled as he watched the adorable blush on the pale skin of his significant other.

“You may kiss the groom.”

A clandestine ceremony outside of Montana on a sunny Saturday morning; held at a small chapel high upon the hills of Greenough. There were no other people around, apart from the clergyman and a random stranger serving as a witness, who neither knew the grooms, nor their backgrounds. Tony wore a silken ivory tuxedo with matching tie, while Bruce wore a gray three-piece suit.

“Now we're even sharing the same initials. Doesn't get any more romantic than that, eh?”  
Satisfied, Tony outstretched his left arm and splayed his fingers to muster his ring from afar.  
“I trust your nefarious brain enough to still know how to call me when we're alone.”

Outside in the parking lot, his newly-wedded husband put the white, rented Escalade into reverse and turned the steering wheel until gravel crunched underneath its huge tires. “Sure I do, Mister _Thomas Stark._ Of course, you'll be the one and only Bruce Wayne in between the sheets." A hand appeared on Tony's thigh. “I'm yours, no matter the name.” He smiled at the sight of the slim, silver band on Bruce's finger.

“Took you long enough.”

 

_Epilog_

The idea had struck Tony already during recovery time.

Wayne Manor was gone, an orphanage. Bruce Wayne was gone, at least to the outside world. He and Alfred Pennyworth needed a new refuge, and what better wedding gift than a spectacular, secluded house in a rural area? With 7,000 feet of lake frontage, the private estate had caught Tony's attention through media.

$78 Million was a bit steep at first, but once the genius billionaire had set a foot into the stone mansion on a 24-acre private island, surrounded by Montana's Flathead Lake, he was smitten. Five bedrooms, eight bathrooms, an indoor shooting range, and a gym sounded just about right for Bruce and his butler to put up a proper secondary home and vacation destination.

A retreat where no paparazzi or snooping bystanders would be able to come too close. Shelter Island would live up to its name whenever Tony would be away, on a mission with the Avengers, unable to provide it for the man who mattered most. Even though deep down he knew Bruce never needed protection. No, he rather gave it to others, gave all he got. Just like Tony himself.  
  
Maybe that was another reason they had gotten under each other's skin after all.

 

**THE END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... can you tell I love to get these guys tying the knot as often as possible? Disgustingly romantic, I know. 
> 
> Anyways, I think this should be it for this story arc, for good this time. Hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing! Thanks to anyone who read or took the time to leave kudos - and of course, comments are love, and I love getting high on them :D
> 
> n/b: Info dump on the pricey stone mansion courtesy of the internet (businessinsider.com, amongst others)


End file.
